Page 28 of Falling Again

I nod quickly, “I don’t have work today, I covered a shift two weeks ago for someone, so I have today off. What can I do to help?” I point to the box closest to him. “What box are you working on right now?”

He reaches in the box and pulls out a thick hardback book. “My mom’s cookbook collection. She was quite the collector. She loved to cook and she was damn good.”

“You must’ve gotten that from her, your cooking is some of the best I’ve had.”

Tyler smirks, “Ah, thanks, you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, really! Everything I’ve tried has been insanely delicious. It could rival Annika’s parents’ cooking.”

“Well thanks, my mom and I did cook all the time together. It’s some of my favorite memories with her.” Tyler continues pulling out book after book until a stack of at least ten are in his arms. “I figured the kitchen is the best place for them, can you help find a spot?”

I leap up and grab the books from his arms and bring them to the kitchen island counter. Tyler continues to pull out the cookbooks from various boxes until we have all of them stacked in the kitchen. There are probably thirty different cookbooks. It’s going to be a real challenge to find a spot. Maybe we could turn one of the cupboards into a mini bookshelf. I start sorting them by author when one catches my eye on the top of a stack. It has a coil bound and an illustrated cover.

“Is this the ranch?” I pick up the book and turn to Tyler. He joins me in the kitchen. His smile is restrained but he nods. I look down at the book again. It’s titled, “Home with the Hastings.” The first recipe is called “Marry Me Bacon”. I flip through a few more and see one called “Tyler’s Favorite Cookies”. I feel my eyes welling up as I leaf through the pages. It seems to be a nearly completed cookbook. Each recipe has doodles next to it that represent the ingredients from the dish. A recipe towards the end is called, “Gus’ Famous Birthday Cake.”

“I told my mom she should try to publish it but she always refused. She said these recipes would be family secrets.” Tyler seems to whisper. I hadn’t realized he moved closer to me until a musky, earthy and warm scent caressed my surrounding. I peer up over my shoulder and see Tyler leaning in, assumingly so he can see the recipes as I flipped through the pages.

“I’m guessing Gus is your dad?” I clear my throat and turn back to the book. He nods his head in response. Tyler’s face is restrained. I wonder if this is the first time he’s seen this book since his parents died. I pause, looking at the recipe. I’m not much of a baker but it seems simple enough. Flour, sugar, some frosting. There are some scribbles written in the margins. Add rainbow sprinkles for Tyler is written near the frosting section. Sliced strawberries in-between layers for Melanie. “And Melanie is your mom?" Tyler quirks his head at that.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I’m guessing this is your dad’s handwriting? He wrote little notes on how to modify the cake for each person.” I point and show Tyler. He grabs it from me desperately, eyes roaming the page.

“Wow, I never noticed that. Or if I did, I didn’t pay much thought to it. My dad wasn’t much of a chef, but he did have a knack for baking. And he made the best cakes.” Tyler pauses and looks longingly at the cookbook. “You don’t know how it feels to have something new from people you lost. I thought there wouldn’t be any more memories of them and yet, here’s a little piece of my dad that I didn’t know I had.

“I think I should make my mom a cake, just like my dad would have. Can you help me?” Tyler asks and I’m feeling crushed by the weight of honor he is giving me. He looks up and I see a crack through his tough exterior he presents to everyone. He’s showing this vulnerable side to me and I want to shield it from the world so he never gets hurt again.

“Of course,” I say and dash to the pantry where Tyler keeps a variety of aprons.

Tyler reads the recipe and gathers ingredients while directing me on various prep jobs. Once the cake pans are in the oven and we prep the icing and decorations, a silent haze fills the space. Tyler has tasked me with slicing strawberries for the layers in-between the vanilla cake layers.

Tyler is whisking together the buttercream frosting. Every now and then I steal peeks at him from across the kitchen island. He’s holding the bowl firmly with one hand, the other grasping the whisk and making strong circular motions. He put a waist apron on which has cinched the already bare threads of the tank top he is wearing, exposing more of his toned biceps and abs. He’s fully concentrating on whipping the buttercream and I’m drinking in his appearance. I’ve always thought Tyler was attractive but recently, it’s like my eyes are magnetized to him. Like a new connection has snapped together between us and I’m drawn to him more than I have before. It’s making this whole, building friendship thing, very difficult.

He lifts the whisk out of the bowl and the buttercream gracefully curls off the end, and he swipes a bit with his finger and brings it up to his mouth. My eyes follow the movement and I can feel my heart beating in anticipation. As if in slow motion, he brings his finger to his mouth and as he tastes the frosting, his eyes lock with mine. I can only imagine my face is flushed at the sight of Tyler sucking his finger gently then pulling it out.

“Do you want to try?” He gavels out and my knees nearly buckle.

I blink, composing myself, “Sure, yeah.” I hear myself say. He lifts the whisk again and scoops a dollop with his finger. He leans over the counter offering me the taste and just as I think I see realization at what’s about to happen dawn over his face, I take the tip of his pointer finger in my mouth. I purse my lips around his finger, swiping my tongue along the pad, while I lock eyes with him.

“Chlo,” he rasps out as his finger exits my mouth with a pop. I can’t help myself as I close my eyes and let out a moan, tasting the flavors of sweet frosting.

“Mm, damn, that’s good.” I smile and open my eyes. Tyler’s hands are gripping the counter and I look down at the white flesh of his knuckles. My gaze darts back up to meet his and at first I think he’s about to circle the counter to me. I picture him pressing his body up against mine. He’s going to finally put us both out of our misery at this back and forth dance we are doing. But before either of us can make a move, the oven timer blares, snapping us out of our lustful, frosting-induced state. Tyler releases his grip from the counter and turns away from me, quickly silencing the timer and turning off the oven before turning back.

“How are those strawberries coming along?” he says in a huff.

I look down and realize I’ve only lopped off the top of one strawberry from the pile on my left before I got distracted. “Coming along,” I grin. Tyler huffs out a laugh as he retrieves oven mitts to remove the cake pans from the oven.

“Were strawberries your mom’s favorite fruit?” I ask, hoping to shift the mood away and cut this tension I’m feeling crawl up my neck. Gosh, I hope this feeling with Tyler passes. I’ve never had a crush this intense before.

“Any berry, she loved.” He accentuates the last. “Blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, she loved all of them, but one year my dad made her birthday cake with a layer of strawberries and she insisted he never stray.”

“And you liked sprinkles?” I ask, remembering the notes jotted down in the margins of the cookbook Tyler has opened on the counter. “Yep, sprinkles all over. In the cake, in the frosting.”

“Why sprinkles?”

“Why not? It’s fun and my birthday should be fun. What would you request in your cake?”

“Guava. Maybe guava icing? That sounds really good actually.” I imagine a vanilla cake with fruity and tart guava flavored buttercream on top.